


I will go to you like the first snow (when we first met, it was snowing)

by thelazyegg



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Angels, Angst, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Human!Viktor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Seasonal Feathers AU, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Viktor with a K, Yuuri with two us, angel!Yuuri, pain a lot of pain, read this if you want a lot of pain lol, to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-10-22 23:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10707477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelazyegg/pseuds/thelazyegg
Summary: "If someday, I am no longer human, will you still love me?"He waits until the end of each performance; once Viktor is tucked away safely in bed, snoring drunkenly before slipping out into the bathroom. Every time, kneeling on the floor, he counts the feathers, now tattered and torn. No longer as glossy as they once were, they droop around his shoulders and Yuuri knows the time they have left together is coming to an end.He doesn't want it to end. It has to end anyway.





	1. I reached you with a small breath of life; it's a love that called out to me fearlessly

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have much to say, except this is going to let me reveal the angst that has always lived within. I couldn't add as many tags as I wanted, but that would be giving too much away. The chapters coming will be much longer, I promise!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Before I held you, I didn’t know_   
>  _That the world I was in_   
>  _Was this bright_
> 
> _I reached you with a small breath of life_  
>  _It’s a love that called out to me fearlessly_

Once Upon a time, there was a lonely man, with immense talent who stood at the top of the world. Once Upon a time, God sent an angel to thaw his frozen heart.

-*-

The final, lilting notes of ‘Yuri On Ice’ are drowned out by the thrumming of his heart, his legs moving instinctively as he pushes himself off the ice, effortlessly launching into a quad toe loop. He hears the crowd grow wild, the announcer overhead cheering, but there’s only one reaction that matters, as he lands it perfectly despite it being at the end of his program. Where most other skaters would falter, Yuuri meets the challenge. An exhale, the moment he had lifted off the ground had felt like flying. The sheer familiarity of it, was why he had always favoured the ice.

Under the lights of the stadium, his costume positively glowed, dark hues a stark contrast to his pale skin. There was something about his skating that had always been magical, Viktor had told him, even before he had refined any of his jumps. His inhuman stamina, his flawless step sequence, it’s nothing like the man has seen in any other skater before, in all his years of attending Yakov’s skating camps.The way he skated was like dancing, weaving a spell through the crowds. No one could look away- no one dared to look away. There was no other explanation for it but sheer talent, one that had gone unrecognised before Viktor had taken him up as a student. What else could be behind the fluidity of his movements, or explain how his skates barely made a sound as they skidded across the ice in swift motions that made it look like his toes never touched the ground?

Yuuri knew better, of course.

And just like that it was over; he struck the ending pose, gliding swiftly as his arms stretched out, chest heaving. Fingertips reached for Viktor, and he broke out into a smile. The cheers were resounding as every member in the audience rose to their feet. Hurried steps took him to the barrier, and he lurched forward, all but falling into the waiting arms of his coach.

_“Beautiful as always, Yuuri.”_

Wordlessly, the younger man buried his face in Viktor’s neck, relishing in the way his name sounded on the lips of his beloved. He barely felt the hand resting gently on his back, which had been tingling moments before. Deft fingers ran the length of his spine, almost comfortingly, before they pulled apart. It was time to go to the kiss and cry, though it seemed Yuuri had beat them both to it.

“ - Why are you crying, моя любовь?”

“Am I?”

 

Breathlessly, he laughs. It sounds like the saddest song in the world. He feels Viktor’s eyes on him, but as their hands meet, he tugs him to the direction of the kiss and cry.

-*- 

No one notices the pure white feather that falls on the ice, and hours later, it is swept up and tossed away. The cleaner chuckles to himself; a figure skating competition, no shortage of feathers there, with the flamboyant costumes. He's spent the night sweeping up a lifetime's supply of sequins already. But it's the only feather he finds, as white as fresh snow. He wishes he had seen the costume. It must have been  _beautiful_. 


	2. I liked it so much, watching over you, my heart fluttering.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I liked it so much_   
>  _Watching over you, my heart fluttering_   
>  _Even when I was ridiculously jealous_   
>  _All of those ordinary moments_   
> 

Once Upon a time, the angel watched the man, idly skating circles in the ice. He attempted no jumps, his mouth set firmly in a thin line, blue eyes staring so deeply it was as if he hoped to bore a hole through the rink. Once Upon a time, the angel made a decision.

  
                                                                                                           -*-

It’s snowing on the day they first meet.

It plays out almost like a memory, the tatami surprisingly slippery under his feet, giving away to slick tiles as fingers scrabble for the door, pushing it open, stepping out into the cold winter air. There he is, like a young god, waist deep in water.

Yuuri’s seen gods before. They look nothing like him.

It goes from there. He expected to find a man down on his luck, a prodigy in need of inspiration. That’s what Yuuri is. Inspiration. Literally heaven sent.

He finds that and so much more.

They don’t get on the ice first. The first few weeks involve vigorous training, early mornings in japan setting the tempo of his falling feet to the shrill ring of a bicycle bell. Mornings spent watching Viktor’s silver hair catch the light as he strains to keep up, drinking in the sight of bemused blue eyes after the man lands a hand on his back.

_Good job, Yuuri! It’s almost like you’re getting lighter already!_

 

He flinches. Viktor doesn’t notice, or if he does, he says nothing about it.

When they first get on ice, Viktor is ecstatic, clapping his hands together like a child on christmas morning. His mouth does that thing it does, the corners lifting upwards in a charming shape of a heart, and his eyes go wide.

“I knew- when I watched the video, I knew you were talented, but _woow_ , Yuuri!”

It’s the way his sentences always end almost in a question, the way his tongue trips over the accented words, draws out the syllables, that makes Yuuri hide a smile, raising a sleeve to his mouth.

“Again?” He calls out, and his answer is a nod.

-*-

 

He hides the wings, of course. When he needs to, he folds them up neatly and tucks them under the fabric of his clothes. Invisible, they barely rustle when he walks. Yuuri walks like he’s leaping with each step. It’s a wonder he’s so light on his feet. He laughs when Viktor tells him the name of his program, Eros. He never says why it sends him doubling over, clutching the side of the rink for support. Not even when Viktor begs, lips twisted in a pout.

_Does he not like the program? Is that why?_

Yuuri’s laughter is the only response.

The feathers start falling when they begin preparation with the programs, just as the weather growing warmer in Hasetsu. He kicks them away as he pretends to be working on his step sequence. Viktor doesn’t notice that, either. As it turns out, Viktor is a pretty forgetful man.

 

-*-

 

They don’t spend every moment skating, of course. On the days off, they go to the beach. The gulls screech overhead, and watching their airborne forms, Yuuri wonders if he misses the sky less than he should. He’s already gotten used to it, walking. One foot in front of the other, and he convinces himself that being on ice has given him all the release he needs.

Viktor on the other hand, has been staring fixedly at the sea, for the longest time. It’s not like him to be silent, following the ebb and flow of the waves.

But when he does speak, he talks for hours. About things Yuuri already knows. About skating, and winning medal after medal. About standing at the top of the world, alone. Yuuri watches him pick up a handful of sand, grains trickling through the gaps between the russian’s fingers.

Yuuri thinks of time. He imagines Viktor thinks of gold.

“The video.” Viktor concludes at last, glancing at Yuuri, his expression softening. “The video that brought me to you, you don’t know how much I needed it, Yuuri. It was almost like you knew.”

Yuuri blinks even though there is no sun, and offers him a smile coupled with a rueful shrug.

Viktor’s hand brushes against his, as the other man leans closer. It’s no accident, moments later the larger hand returns, and covers his own with surprising strength. Yuuri can still feel the grains of sand rubbing against the back of his hand.

“Thank you,” the words come after a beat of silence, it sounds almost as if the older man is holding back tears. “For coming into my life.”

 

-*-

 

Of course, it can’t always be. It can’t always be the pair of them, because Viktor is a world champion and Yuuri is, to everyone’s knowledge, his struggling student. They go to competitions, he meets his Russian counterpart, who accuses him of stealing Viktor and spews words a fifteen year old should never have learned.

It’s impressive. Yuuri can’t help but wonder how the world would react if they knew that it was _Viktor_ who had done all the stealing.

He waits until the competitions are over, of course, when Viktor is tucked away safely, snoring away deeply with the help of copious amounts of alcohol, before slipping into the bathroom. Kneeling onto the cold floor, he runs his fingers through his wings, allowing them to stretch out to their full span, crowding the little bathroom with their immensity. It should be a relief, yet this is what he dreads the most, watching his reflection in the mirror.

They’re not a luscious as they once were. He doubts they would be able to carry him off the ground, torn and tattered, they resembles drooping leaves. He’s reminded, suddenly, of the trees in winter, barren and bare.

They don’t have much time left.

Tonight, the door creaks shut behind him, and he stands in the glow of the bathroom light, watching Viktor’s sleeping form. Half-naked, buried in the sheets, Yuuri catches a glimpse of pale skin, the rise and fall of his back.

“моя любовь?”

An arm snakes free, reaches out, and Yuuri leans down, slips between the sheets to answer his call. Viktor has been keeping his side of the bed warm, and the hand drifts over to cup his cheek.

“Stay close to me.”


	3. The season of you will never come again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Before I let go of you, I didn’t know_   
>  _That the world I am in_   
>  _Was this lonely_   
>  _Pretty flowers bloomed and withered here_   
>  _The season of you will never come again_

Once upon a time, God made angels. He gave them everything man had and more, wings that brought them up to the heavenly skies, hands to hold, lips to kiss, and a heart to yearn with.    


-*-

  
The first time they are apart, it's during a competition. The Rostelecom cup, and Yuuri has been thrust into the unwilling arms of Viktor's former coach, a gruff older man who barely bats an eyelid at his former student's ridiculous antics. Not that this is any of Viktor's fault. Poor Makkachin, the mischievous pup having snatched one steam bun too many. And Yuuri-    


  
Yuuri had wanted him to leave. 

  
  
He had been the one to shove Viktor out the door, even going as far to book his ticket for him. The reluctance in the Russian’s eyes, the hint that Viktor was even considering  _ staying  _ on his behalf- it had scared him. More than Yuuri would care to let on. 

 

The competition dragged on without Viktor. WIthout him, Yuuri couldn’t seem to skate his best. His routine was lacklustre, as if he was merely going about the motions, and it showed. It was a wonder he had even made it to the grand prix finals at all, with his abysmal performance. But he had, and that was all that mattered. 

 

In his mind’s eye, he saw Viktor sprawled out on the tatami floor before the television at the inn, surrounded by people no more real than Yuuri himself. He could already see it, the crestfallen expression, the pursed lips that would relax into a smile, when he found out Yuuri had gotten in anyway. 

 

_Better luck next time_ , моя любовь. 

 

Up until recently, Yuuri never understood what those words meant. He had always imagined it to be a nickname, his mind translating it to something like  _ little piggy _ or even  _ katsudon _ (all of which VIktor managed perfectly fine in english) and filed it away as another one of those Viktor things. Little habits that he had unconsciously committed to memory over time, like how the Russian preferred to sleep on the right side of the bed or preferred sweet flavours over salty ones. 

 

Then the cup of China came, and Viktor had kissed him on ice, for all to see. 

 

Just like that, Yuuri didn’t have to wonder what those foreign phrases meant anymore. 

 

When did it start? When did VIktor start tacking that playful endearment on to the end of  his sentences, and why did Yuuri only notice now that it had always been when they were alone? 

 

Yuuri stumbles out of glass doors, not bothering to linger. Yakov’s duties ended here, and something in the older man’s demeanour tells Yuuri he isn’t the type to coddle his skaters after performances. Certainly, there will be no hugs that threaten to squeeze the life out of him. 

 

Not that Yuuri was his skater, anyway. 

 

Besides, he prefers to be alone now, to figure out this mess of feelings within. It makes sense, that he would skate poorly without Viktor watching. Viktor was his purpose, his reason for being, Yuuri had nothing to prove if the Russian man was not by his side. And yet as much as he wanted to convince himself that it had been a deliberate move on his part…

 

                             He couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed Viktor too. 

 

The sudden realisation stops him in his tracks, and he finds himself on a bridge, overlooking a highway. Moscow is beautiful at this time of the year, even if it’s the first and last time Yuuri will get to see the city, the lights dance before his eyes, hues of yellow and red from passing cars blend together seamlessly. All Yuuri can do is lean forward with a sigh, resting his elbows  on the cold railings, paint peeling and faded with time. 

 

                                               He looks up to sky, and tries to imagine a life without Viktor. 

 

               -*- 

 

It’s the sound of his phone buzzing that startles him out of his thoughts. Frozen fingers fumble-- he’s forgotten his gloves again, he keeps forgetting he’s human now, and is no longer invulnerable to cold-- to raise the phone to his face, and squinting, Yuuri recognises the name of the incoming caller to be Viktor. 

 

“Hello?” 

 

“Yuuri!”

 

When did it start? When did the sound of his own name make his heart flutter? It didn’t flutter before, not when the announcer called him onto the ice for his program. Despite himself, Yuuri smiles against the screen of his phone, amazed at what a few syllables, barely audible over the poor connection, could do. 

 

Not that Viktor is aware, of course. The Russian has already moved on, talking so quickly it makes Yuuri’s head spin. First, of course, Makkachin was okay, they had been to the hospital and the pup had even been waiting at the inn when VIktor had arrived in Hasetsu, and Viktor had seen Yuuri’s performance, watched it together with the triplets and Minami, and really, what was with that performance? They would have a lot of corrections to go through, Viktor promised, when they met again. He wasn’t going to go easy on Yuuri just because the skater hadn’t had his coach by his side. 

 

Yuuri, luckily, can hear the guilt inflected in the other man’s voice, despite the poor connection. 

 

               “Just don’t forget to come pick me up.” He laughs, to let Viktor know all is forgiven. 

 

-*-

 

The air is chilly when he steps out of the airplane, and Yuuri rolls back his shoulders, in an attempt to loosen up tense muscles. Wistfully, he thinks of flying. 

 

But the thought is gone once he reaches the terminal, instinctively, he’s craning his neck for the sight of silver hair. But it’s Makkachin he sees first, pressing his nose against the glass that separates them, wagging his tail with vigour. 

 

Yuuri doesn’t realise he had broken out into a run, until his legs began to ache, and it isn’t long before he’s bursting through the glass door, luggage all but forgotten. He doesn’t have to run long; when he opens up, Viktor meets him halfway. 

 

The hug still catches him off guard, it all but knocks the wind out of him. This is love. Yuuri thinks, as he buries his face into the fabric of VIktor’s coat, and feels a hand reach up to stroke the back of his head

 

_ This is love _ , and I’m experiencing it. 

 

“Please be my coach until I retire!” A thud, almost painful. Yuuri doesn’t like to lie, angel or not. 

 

“It sounds almost like a marriage proposal.” 

 

                                Then, bemusedly, belatedly, it follows. “I wish you’d  _ never _ retire.” 


	4. Hold your wrinkled hands, and say how warm my life was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I started to become greedy_   
>  _I wanted to live with you, to grow old with you_   
>  _Hold your wrinkled hands_   
>  _And say how warm my life was_

Once upon a time, God sent an angel down from the heavens, to save a lonely man. Once upon a time, they fell in love, and once upon a time, neither of them wanted the story to end. Both of them knew how it would end; unhappily.

 

-*-

 

They arrive in Barcelona on a cold day, Yuuri blames the tightening of his chest on the scarf that Viktor so carefully helps him knot around his neck; as soon as he’s off the ice, he asks to take the afternoon off.

 

“It isn’t everyday we find ourselves in Spain.” He explains, leaning against the barrier of the rink, “Don’t be much a model coach. Take me sightseeing, Viktor.”

 

For a moment he sees VIktor waver, but Yuuri doesn’t want to spend the few afternoons they have left at the foreign rink. He smiles in relief when the crisis is averted; Viktor takes care to undo the laces of his skates, and Yuuri watches the growing spot on the crown of his head as he does.

 

Without thinking, he reaches forward and pokes it, playfully, re-enacting a now running joke between the two, and Viktor, after a pause, pretends to collapse on the ground in mock agony.

 

When he gets up, he is pouting. “You wound me, моя любовь.”

 

Throwing his skates over his shoulder, Yuuri slips his arm into his, and they head out into bustling city of Barcelona.

 

-*-

 

It’s beautiful, but for some reason, Yuuri can’t take his eyes off Viktor.

 

“Yuuri,” he hears Viktor break the silence, and is startled out of his thoughts. “I’m losing the feeling in my right hand.”

 

Belatedly, he realises he’s been holding on too tightly, and hurriedly drops Viktor's hand, sheepishly muttering an apology. He is stopped by Viktor reaching over and grabbing his hand once more, insistently pulling him close this time. Their eyes meet and Yuuri can’t bring himself to look away.

 

“Are your fingers cold?”

Yuuri blushes as he shakes his head, burying his face into his scarf.

 

Viktor laughs, and kisses his gloved hands anyway.

 

-*-

 

“Just wait here, Yuuri! I’ll be back in a moment! ” Viktor begs, and with that he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd in an attempt to reach the best spot for a selfie. All Yuuri can do is roll his eyes-- Viktor’s obsession with instagram is nothing new by now-- and try to ignore how empty his hands suddenly feel.

 

His legs ache, and fondly, he remembers how minutes ago it had been _Viktor_ who had jokingly complained that they had walked the length of Barcelona city. Maybe he was right, but Yuuri wasn’t used to how easily these human legs seemed to tire.

 

Just as he approaches a bench, he notices it’s already occupied by an elderly couple and decides against it. No doubt they appreciate it more than he does.

 

 _Where is Viktor_..?

 

Despite himself, he can’t keep his thoughts from wandering, as do so often now, in the days leading to the end. In his mind’s eye, he sees Viktor and himself on a return trip to Barcelona.

Yuuri would lead him to this bench, and point at it laughingly.

 

 _Remember when you left me to go take that selfie? I was waiting in the cold for_ **_hours_ ** _; that was back when you had hair, remember that?_

 

Makkachin would be there too, the loyal poodle would lick the back of Viktor’s hand in comfort, and Viktor reach up to his head, and touch the places where age had been unforgiving and cruel.

 

_Ah.. but I’m not bald, Yuuri. I still have hair!_

 

By then, it would be more grey than silver, and Viktor would have laugh lines along his mouth, and a limp to his gait.

 

 _It’s okay, we’re_ **_both_ ** _getting old. I keep forgetting where I leave my glasses, even when they’re on the top of my head_.

 

In his head, Viktor’s smile is painfully kind, as he leans in to press a kiss to Yuuri’s wrinkled cheek. He wouldn’t mind the weathered skin, testament to the years they had spent together.

 

 _Then I’ll be your eyes,_ _моя любовь._

 

Yuuri jerks back as he feels a familiar hand close around the small of his back, and at once is dragged back to the present, where parting is inevitable.

 

“-- Sorry I took so long.” Viktor appears apologetic, “I was stopped by a fan, I promise! You know I can’t refuse any fans..” He throws an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, tugging him forward, only to stop when the other man does not do the same.

 

“Yuuri? Yuuri, what’s wrong?” He leans in closer, then, “Are you- Are you crying?”

 

Reflexively, Yuuri reaches up to brush away stray tears with the back of his hand.

 

-*-

 

“-- They’re just a pack of nuts!” Viktor throws his hands up in the air, clearly frustrated. They had been walking for hours, around what felt like the same bench, and tempers were getting a little frayed. Viktor didn’t seem to understand why Yuuri was making such a big fuss about a bag of _nuts_ , he even offered to go back to the shop and buy some. But the hour was late and Yuuri was sure it had already closed.

 

It wasn’t really about the nuts, anyway.

 

Viktor was saying something, and Yuuri was struck by the urge to kiss him. He swallowed it down, and turned away.

 

The walk back to the hotel was made in silence, tension clearly weighing them both down. Yuuri was in the midst of worrying his bottom lip between his teeth when he saw it, and his feet were moving of their own accord before he could even think twice.

 

He pressed his face against the glass, already knowing what he had meant to find. Under the lights of the display case, the rings shone.

 

 _Please_ , _just let me do this. Just for once, let me leave something behind._

 

It’s foolish, but he walks into the jeweller’s anyway, knowing Viktor is following right behind him.

 

-*-

 

Midnight finds them in front of a church, and Yuuri waits until he hears the resounding clang of bells from the old building before he speaks. His fingers are trembling as he pulls the delicate ring out of the drawstring bag, praying he doesn’t drop it. He hopes courage doesn’t fail him at the last moment.

 

Viktor, Viktor who had seen him choose that same piece of jewellery at the shop, lets out a soft gasp.

 

“This is a thank you. For everything you’ve done for me so far.”

 

Gingerly, he takes ahold of Viktor’s hand, and slide the ring in place. It’s a perfect fit, of course.

 

Yuuri knows it’s a mistake. It’s a promise he can’t keep but he has to show Viktor somehow, that no matter how this ended, they existed. And what he felt had been _real._

That he had hoped for something more.

 

“-- I couldn’t think of something else. But I’ll be trying my best tomorrow, so.. so..” He falters, and for a terrifying moment he mistakes the lack of expression on Viktor’s face for disinterest, “Tell me something for good luck.”

 

But the small smile on the Russian’s lips, as he slips an identical ring on Yuuri’s second to last finger doesn’t go unnoticed. There, it flashes both hot and cold, and in the distant, Yuuri can hear the sound of carols.

 

“Oh _Yuuri_.”

 

He’s pulled into a hug before he can even process it. It’s not until he feels hair brushing against his cheek, arms tightening around him in an attempt to keep him together, as Viktor buries in face into Yuuri’s shoulder.

 

Or make sure he’s there.

 

“ _My_ Yuuri. You never fail to surprise me, huh?”

 

Despite his attempt at light-hearted banter, they both know Viktor is crying.

 


	5. After that short encounter, you cried like rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was just one blessing_   
>  _After that short encounter_   
>  _You cried like the rain_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I also listened to "and I'm here" by Kim Kyung Hee..  
> Hope we're not all crying too much!!

Once upon a time, God sent an angel to save the loneliest genius in the world. Once upon a time, the angel made the man happy, the happiest he had ever been, and when the last feather fell, the angel was forced to leave, convinced the man no longer needed him and just like that, their love came to an end, a tragedy written in the stars.

Time can’t seem to pass slowly enough; in the blink of an eye, Yuuri finds himself standing by the barrier of the rink, moments before the start of his program. He fights off the urge to dig his heels in,to refuse to move forward but he knows it would be futile. For now, his hand is still closed around Viktor’s, and he watches as his coach, his lover, his _everything_ leans down to kiss the cold metal of his ring.

 

It succeeds in bringing a strained smile to his face, and he feels Viktor’s grip tighten for a brief second, before the Russian begins to pull away.

 

Dutifully, Yuuri glides over to the middle, hearing the crowd roar one last time before everyone settles down, making way for the faint notes of _On love: Eros_ . He takes the starting pose out of habit but something is off, almost as if his magic is no longer working. Technically, it’s flawless, worthy of Japan’s top skater. Yet Yuuri doesn’t seem to be keen on seducing anyone, gone is the provocative femme fatale he had perfected over the season, the one that kept everyone wrapped around her little finger. Yuuri seems more _desperate_ than anything, every muscle tensed even as he launches into the sit spin. It isn’t the speed of the spins that nauseates him, nor his perfectly executed jumps that tire him out. He’s known for his stamina, yet he finds himself faltering as he prepares to enter the last jump.

 

It’s something Yuuri has been talking himself up to for awhile now. He’s only managed it a few times in practice, but in his last moments on the ice, he has to.

 

Later, Yuuri realises his mind had been too caught up in the mechanics of the quad flip to have pulled it off. The moment his hand brushes the frigid surface of the rink, his blood runs cold. He knows it is over.

 

Luckily, the audience remains kind as ever, shouting praises and throwing bouquets onto the ice as enthusiastically as always. Yuuri doesn’t have the art to acknowledge them or anyone, a pitiful figure curled up in the middle of the rink. He weeps, softly, for all that he has lost.

 

He doesn’t get up for a long, long time.

 

Eventually he does, and as he exits the rink, he feels Viktor press a careful hand to the small of his back. It’s without it’s usual fondness though and fails to warm him. Viktor doesn’t call him anything but _Yuuri_ again, only putting on a smile for the cameras at kiss and cry.

 

He plays the perfect coach, hamming it up for the media, but Yuuri feels like he’s already moving out of reach.

 

-*-

 

“Viktor?”

 

When he finally breaks his silence, he finds his voice is hoarse, a hand going to rub at his throat. It had been quite a while since Viktor had left, promising to get them both some water with false cheerfulness. Yuuri didn’t think it was the Russian’s intention to _abandon_ him in the garage of the stadium, but it hurt nonetheless.

 

He could hear the announcer’s voice booming ahead, and follows it with a sinking feeling in his stomach. It turns out to be the right choice; he soon spots a familiar silhouette at the top of the stairs, leading to the box reserved for spectators.

 

“-- Viktor!” The cry dies in his throat, he knows VIktor won’t turn his way.

 

They both watch was Yuri Plisetsky takes the ice, launching into a heartbreaking rendition of _On love: Agape_ . As the camera zooms in the young skater’s face, it’s apparent for all to see, that he has finally tapped into what he had all along. _Agape_. Unconditional love. Yuuri is happy for his fellow competitor. He really is, though he imagines he could have been more happy, if it didn’t feel like a stab to the chest.

 

 _Unconditional love_.

 

It seemed VIktor had found something of his own, too. It’s an unmistakable expression, one he has shone on Yuuri many times. _I must have been foolish_ , Yuuri thinks, blinking back tears, _To think I was the only one_.

 

It is confirmed, when the scores are announced and a howl is heard from the kiss and cry. A world record! And at his senior debut too, it’s a fear even Viktor Nikiforov couldn’t manage at that age.

 

Yuuri doesn’t have to see it in Viktor’s face to know how the older man leans forward, his body readying itself as if gearing up for a challenge, mouth set in a straight line.

  


_He’s found it_ , Yuuri thinks faintly, _the thing that’s going to keep him going. Inspiration_.

 

 _He doesn’t need me anymore_.

 

-*-

 

Viktor is uncharacteristically silent on the way back to the hotel, and Yuuri can almost hear the gears in his head turning. He imagines the man is already planning a grand comeback-- in fact, he’s surprised his coach hadn’t abandoned him once more in search of Yakov to ask for just that. But Viktor is still Viktor, despite his competitiveness.

 

Moments of his kindness, his loyalty come back to Yuuri under the passing lights of the city, and as he leans his cheek against the shivering glass of the taxi, he knows Viktor will see this to the end.

 

Yuuri knows it is for the best, and he searches deep within to feel elation. It was what he came on earth to do, to inspire Viktor and reignite his passion for skating. Maybe, things had gotten a little complicated along the way, but he had accomplished what he hoped to. The mission he had devoted his entire being to.

 

But why did it ache?

 

He closes his eyes against the onslaught of questions, turning answers over and over in his mind.

 

-*-

 

As soon as they reach their shared room, Viktor announces he’s going to take a shower. He doesn’t ask Yuuri to join, like he usually does, and Yuuri doesn’t turn bright red at the suggestion, because there isn’t one.

 

He hears the sound of the water running, and curls up on his side of the bed.

 

They’re both tired, he knows this well. It just doesn’t help that every sign looks like a warning one.

 

When Yuuri declares they need to talk, Viktor doesn’t seem to even work up the emotions to look surprised. Yuuri finds himself silently questioning unreadable blue eyes. _Have you already let go of me? Am I the one who has been abandoned_?

 

The Russian leans back relaxedly, looking almost bored as he points out Yuuri had asked to talk. And just like that, Yuuri delivers the line he has been practising the entire day.

 

“After the grand prix final, let’s end this.”

 

-*-

 

The reaction is immediate, and unexpected. Yuuri watches as a ripple goes through Viktor’s body, expressions flickering across his face like shuffling a pack of card. _Shock, Disbelief, Anger, Hurt, Sorrow_.

 

And new ones, he’s never seen before. Briefly, he wonders if he had been mistaken after all.

 

Between them, they say nothing. Until Yuuri leans over and brushes away Viktor’s fringe more out of curiosity than tenderness.

 

“Are you crying?”

 

Yet another first. He’s seen the happy tears, only last night, a few petty tears shed usually accompanied by clutching his forsaken bald spot. But Viktor has never cried, not like Yuuri has  after competitions. He watches, almost fascinated by how the tears swell up without warning, and fall down the length of Viktor’s cheeks.

 

Viktor slaps his hand away, forcefully, and Yuuri accepts it because it’s what he deserves.

 

“I’m crying because I’m _mad_ .” The last word is spat out like venom, and Yuuri watches placidly as his slender fingers are drawn into trembling fists. “I never knew Katsuki Yuuri could be so _selfish_.”

 

 _If only._ He wants to laugh in Viktor’s face. _If I could be selfish_ , _I would have you by my side forever_.

 

“-- I’ve been thinking about it. I’m not getting any younger, and it’s time for me to retire.” He smiles ruefully, and is reminded of how the tables have turned. “I know it took a lot for you, to get me out of my slump last year, and to train me. You helped me reach the grand prix finals, it’s more than I could ever ask for. Thank you, Viktor.” He bows, low enough his eyes can drop to the carpeted floor. “I won’t take up anymore of your time.”

 

“ You’re not _making_ any sense.” Argumentative as always, as ditzy as Viktor could come off, he had a stubborn streak in him that was no doubt responsible for his own coach’s baldness. “I thought.. With last night.. What am _I_ supposed to do, Yuuri?”

 

“It’s time for you to go back to Russia now, Viktor.” The words taste bitter on his tongue. “You’re not getting any younger either, but the world is still waiting for your return. You have to go back and reclaim your world record. It’s where you belong, on the ice. I can’t keep you from the skating world any longer.”

 

Hurt resurfaces, but after a beat of silence, Viktor’s expression grows unreadable. “-- You don’t understand me at all, do you Yuuri?”

 

“I--”

 

Viktor waves him away, almost as a dismissal. “You should shower. It’s getting late, and we have to wake up bright and early tomorrow to be at the rink.”

 

-*-

 

They say little else after, and Viktor suddenly decides he enjoys early bedtimes. It isn’t long after he turns off the lights that Yuuri decides to join him, but sleep would not come. Instead Yuuri lies awake in the dark, listening to the sound of the russian’s soft snores.

 

They’re inches away on the double bed, and Yuuri imagines reaching out to take his hand. Not that Viktor would let him, after the fight that had. Not after Viktor knew he was leaving.

 

He jerks away sharply, shame pooling in his stomach. Unable to remain on the bed any longer, he heads to the bathroom, quietly sliding the door shut behind him.

 

The mirror is a large one, Yuuri takes a deep breath, before slowly shedding his shirt. It is as bad as he thought it would be, a single feather against marred skin. His beautiful wings, now nothing more. And when the last feather falls..

 

Yuuri will have to leave.

 

He allows himself to feel it for a moment, grief, stroking ravaged skin where his feathers once were, each given up for a moment of time he could never take back. Yet he would do it, over, and over again.

 

He had been prepared to give up anything, for more time with Viktor.

 

“Yuuri?”

 

Instantly, his eyes snap back to the reflection before him, but this time he isn’t alone. Behind him, in the darkness of the room, he makes out the shadowy form of Viktor, hovering by his back with uncertainty written all over his face.

  
“Yuuri... what are you?”


	6. Forget everything and move on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to be  
> Happy for once  
> But that made you cry
> 
> Forget everything and move on  
> Because I will go to you  
> When your breath  
> Calls out to me again

  
  


“An Angel. An Angel from… Heaven?” 

 

The glowing numbers of the clock betray the fact it’s two in the morning, and the early hours find them both huddled on the cold bathroom floor, across from each other. Yuuri can feel Viktor’s eyes on him. Searching, waiting. 

 

When he doesn’t answer, he watches Viktor’s arms tighten around his knees. It is in that moment that he also realises the Russian is trembling. Under the bright light, he grows pale. 

 

“I didn’t think… I didn’t know..” Already Yuuri can imagine the thoughts running through the other man’s head, memories of an adolescence spent sitting atop a lonely pedestal. Viktor’s voice lowers into a murmur, and he almost misses the whispered words. 

                                 “I didn’t think there would be any help for me.” 

 

He prefers to let the revelation sink in, and he’s never been good with words. He imagines Viktor might be grateful.  _ For now _ . Yuuri can’t relax yet, he knows there is worse to come, a greater deal to blow. But Viktor isn’t the disinterested teenager from before. HIs own hands tighten into fists. 

 

“What about those?” Viktor isn’t stupid, and he catches on far too quickly. At once the temperature plummets. “Your wings.... You look hurt. Did something happen?” 

 

The worry in his voice is almost laughable, as weary as Yuuri is. 

 

“Everything comes at a price.” is the line he delivers, softly, and knows from the flash of hurt on Viktor’s face that the man has finally understood. 

 

“You.. It doesn’t look like there are many left.” His voice is pleading for a lle that Yuuri swallows down, a painful lump that contracts in his chest, and seizes him, forcing him to blink back tears. 

 

“Tomorrow.” Yuuri confirms, and all of a sudden it feels like their bathroom is rapidly expanding, the space between their knees widening endlessly. “I promise I’ll do my best. I’ll win gold for you, Viktor.” 

 

It makes the second time that night he sees Viktor cry.

 

-*-

 

Once more he reaches for Viktor’s face, the slender curve of his well-set jaw, where tears are overflowing. Like before, these aren’t pretty tears. In Yuuri’s mind, they cut deep. 

 

His fingers ghost wetness before Viktor jerks away, fire flaring up in his eyes. “What are you doing?” 

 

Yuuri’s hand remains hovering in the space between them, an open invitation. “It would be easier.” He replies simply, “If you forgot. I never meant for you to find out.” 

 

And just like that, the tears are gotten, Viktor stands in a flurry of movement, and the slamming of the bathroom door is echoed by that of the hotel door, seconds later. 

 

There is little else he can do, but hold his head in his hands and weep. 

 

-*-

 

He doesn’t go back to bed. Not at first, but eventually, his desire to hold true to his promise wins over, and he crawls into the covers, resting a tear stained cheek against the cold pillow. 

 

Heavy eyelids are almost brought to a close, and he nearly finds himself dozing off, when the hotel door is nearly thrown off the hinges. 

 

At first he thinks it must be a robbery, but in the dim light of the early morning, he recognises familiar silver hair, and slowly, brings himself to sit up. 

 

The force of Viktor’s embrace nearly knocks him over, this time he feels Viktor’s tears mixing with his own, slipping down his back, as hands grab at his clothes, with a violence that shocks him. 

 

He barely makes out the tearful words stammered through sobs, as Viktor holds him with the desperation of a drowning man. 

 

“I thought- I thought you already  _ left _ .”

 

_ No, not yet.  _ Yuuri answers wordlessly, as he presses a kiss to Viktor’s forehead. It is warm, and intimate, like soothing an upset child. And as tremors run through Viktor’s frame, Yuuri can only hope the man doesn’t notice he is also shaking. 


End file.
